Like a sledgehammer

He said I felt like a sledgehammer in his chest
He said my steel magnolia eyes are the place he found rest
He said he never met a girl life me before or since
He said life without me made no sense
And the music played and the song was sung.

Word Gravity

I often have concern all my words may scare you away or maybe they already have.
I respond to words intentionally. Words compell me. Words challenge me. Words soothe me…
I guess it depends on what kind of word person you are. Maybe all my words won’t scare you away, but If they should I understand.
I see words in “color” sometimes. Words are never, ever black and white.
There are “you’re a liar” words.
There are “absolute Truth” words.
There are “profound” words.
There are “stupid and ignorant” words.
There are “death and life” words, and so many more.
The list is exhausting but you get my drift.

Evening in Paris Blues

Photo by Pierre Blachu00e9

I “feel” in color. These color harbour themselves in my heart like a traveling carnival. Today as I lay down to rest I am aware of a sadness wrapped around me like a blanket. The color I feel is called “Evening in Paris” blue. It is a Catalina blue tinged with muted dark lavender. What a beautiful color sadness can be. I see cafes quiet with an evening crowd. I see and feel a comfortable sense of lighting coming from the old gas street lamps that flickers burnt orange in the blue of this night. This sadness is comforting in a strange way. It is pondering missed people, remembering a special day that can never be again. It is a story to tell of both the good and the.bad of life.
The “Evening in Paris Blue” lay like a blanket upon the earth. Everywhere you look it is blue and it is okay to be sad sometimes. it is a primary emotion. In its soberest of actions sadness cannot be explained very well but here in Evening Paris blue there is no explanation needed. it is just a feeling. It will pass but I will see Evening in Paris blue again.

perfect and stubborn

Love will grow over barriers and around obstacles still blooming and still fragrant. Love is having the strength to stay. Love is a wild and furious risk, a pouring out of all that one can from that cup and drink it. Love is rich and poor. Love is sickness and health. Love is a verb, an action word. Nothing about love is passive. Love cannot be manipulated. Love. Risks. Everything. The Holy God is Love’s name…ponder this, ponder Him on this busy Tuesday of your life. Love changes everything!

A Hallelujah

Today God orchestrated some happenings that I needed. It was an affirming whisper from him…

Such an intimate and sweet “I love you” from my Lord. I say intimate because He and I are the only ones who know. I say sweet because I am his daughter and he understands me.

So I end this day with a Hallelujah.

Sleep well my friends.

Sandpiper Dance

The little seabird with twigs for legs hurries up and back about three feet.  Waves rolls seaward and the Sandpipers skirmishes lighting fast to peck a little minnow and hurries back …the water never once touches her. It is comical, this dance of the Piper. Her spindle like legs never seems to tire…

This is the beauty that fills my mind.  ” everything that is created was created by Jesus. By him all things made above the earth, below the earth, on land, and in the sea. Everything visible and invisible were made by him for his pleasure. Jesus hold all things together and in him all things live and move and have their being.

Even the Sandpipers Dance is for Him.

The Knockout Punch

The knockout punch…

I have eaten nothing in three days.

The pain in my chest is a slow agony.

I have no memory of warmth with others of my kind.

Although fading, my longing drives my soul forward.

A primal memory of Joy beats like a captured bird in my brain.

Yet somehow I know Him and see the full Glory of God.

So she called the name of the Lord who spoke to her, “You are a God of seeing,” for she said, “Truly here I have seen him who looks after me. Genesis 16:13

Watercolor Garden

Camellias are blooming stout and ruffled in oh so many rosy shades of pinks!

Azalea bushes lay a thick carpet for Gulf summer heat and rain.

The golden-green sea oats weave and spin the island’s core in an endless ballet.

All the while, the Faithful Morning Glories, pink and yellow, vine along the sand like a hodgepodge of holiday lights.

The salt sits thick upon my skin and hair.

I am baptized in a wave and the horizon melts into carnival colors of pulled taffy in my Watercolor Garden.

Trace of Sorrow

It is an iridescent dragon fly purple and blue
It so cleverly hovers over the pond of your brow
It is an agile flyer and can be high or low, come and go
It has life expectancy of a week or so…

This is how I see traces of sorrow
A vivid an electric color, impossible to miss
An aviator like no other, comes from anywhere
This trace may be brief, a week or so…

or maybe no one knows…